


Urban Legends, kindred spirits

by Arches67



Series: Meeting of heroes [4]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 14:10:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5051449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arches67/pseuds/Arches67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unknowingly, both John and Matt happen to be in the same place at the same time; in a dubious laboratory of Hell's Kitchen. Of course, things don't exactly run smoothly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Urban Legends, kindred spirits

**Author's Note:**

> A new story in my Urban Legend universe, Person of Interest and Daredevil crossover. Sorry but those two make so much sense together. You may want to read the other stories first, or at least know that John and Matt have met before.  
> Also… hurt/comfort much? Be warned…  
> Dedicated to Yellowstone69 because all this started as a joke. She never thought I would dare…  
> Beta'd by Zendog, thank you!!

 

John awoke with a gasp, which turned into a moan when the jerk sent shooting pain all over his body.

His last memory exploded in his mind and he pushed on his arms to rise with a single scream.

"Finch!" he yelled in a hoarse voice.

A hand pushed in back down gently. "I'm fine. Easy now John," the voice said softly.

Forcing his eyes open, John searched for the comforting presence. Finch bent over him, visibly wincing, but making sure that the wounded man could see him.

"Relax. Everything will be fine," he eased again.

His surroundings didn't make sense. He was lying face down on some sort of cushions. The blinding pain in his back was on verge of making him pass out, but Finch was alive. John focused on that single thought; he would make sense of the other factors later. For now, that alone was almost more than he could process, and all that really mattered.

A female voice spoke behind his back. "I really need to take that thing out now."

Finch slipped a pristine white handkerchief in John's mouth. "Bite," he mouthed.

"John, this is going to hurt like hell; get ready," a male said voice behind him, and John felt a weight pushing him back down, effectively preventing him from any movement.

 _Matt?_ He thought, recognizing the voice.

 _How did…_? His question was shot out by his own cry as a searing pain cut his back. Liquid fire engulfed his body and his teeth clenched on the handkerchief did nothing to stop his screams. Agony reaped his body, and none of his vast experience with pain could help with this living hell. He thrashed against the weight holding him down but it felt like a four-wheeler had pinned him down.

"Just let go, John. Trust me, it'll be easier," Matt's voice said gently.

His lungs seemed to contract and refused to let any air in. Panic seized him and he spit out the handkerchief to open his mouth wide trying to breathe but with no effect. A huge gaping hole opened and the mattress collapsed as he went down spiraling. Everything went black, and the darkness finally consumed the pain before everything disappeared.

"He's out," Matt said, releasing the body and making sure that John was breathing again.

"Thank God," Finch whispered with a shiver. He had never seen John so obviously in pain. His employee always treated even his most serious injuries as simple mishaps. For him to react that way proved the injury was way off the charts.

Concentrating on the wound and the weird bullet she was trying to pry out from John's back, Claire didn't acknowledge any of them. With a grunt she pulled the plyers holding the piece of metal.

"What the hell is this?" she exclaimed, dropping it in a bowl.

Finch looked at the object frowning, extending a hand to examine it more closely.

"Don't touch it!" Matt shot loudly. Finch stepped back almost reflexively. "It's…" His voice trailed. He was going to say 'alive', but it was only a piece of metal.

Matt rose to his feet, while Claire started stitching the wound.

"Mr. Murdock?" Finch enquired.

"There's some sort of… humming." Matt touched the object with the tip of his finger. "Shit!" he yelled pulling his hand back. "No wonder he was in such pain. This feels like a taser on full blast."

"Miniaturization has its limits, Mr. Murdock," Finch said in an unconvinced voice.

"Considering the location where he got shot, I wouldn't put it past them."

Claire finished bandaging the wound and removed her gloves.

"So, since when did I become the official nurse of your vigilante club?"

"Vigilante club?" Matt repeated with an amused laugh.

Claire tilted her head with a frown. "I am looking at you with this huge dubious face, Matt."

Matt chuckled softly. "Yeah, I got that…"

"Nurse Temple," Finch started.

"Seeing the circumstances, just call me Claire," the nurse said shaking her head. "And please, do me a favor, sit down before you collapse too."

"I am fine."

"Yeah, right. You can barely move. And don't think I didn't see those marks on your wrists. What happened to you?"

"It's… complicated."

Deciding that sitting down was indeed a good idea, Finch moved to a chair, hoping that it would somehow deflect the question. He had been pretty banged up too. Fortunately, he hadn't been seriously injured.

"Vigilante club," Claire whispered back at Murdock before moving to check on Finch.

She put a hand to Finch's neck and he tensed, escaping the touch.

"Please, only my wrists need some attention. I'm afraid there isn't much you can do for the rest," the IT genius explained.

"Disabled vigilantes club..." Claire mumbled. "Is this personal crusade a way to make up for what you perceive as a weakness?" She pointed to John still passed out on the mattress they had hastily thrown on the floor. "What about him? He deaf or something?"

Matt chuckled. "No, John is fully fit… and quite deadly actually."

"Well for the next couple of weeks he won't be able to steal a pacifier from a baby," Claire answered casting an eye over the unmoving body.

She was worried. The bullet, or whatever that thing was, had been removed, but it was difficult to assess the damage it had caused while embedded in his back, so close to John's spine. She had felt relieved when he had started thrashing. Pain was good; pain meant you felt things. But since he had passed out, John hadn't so much as twitched. She'd need to keep an eye on the guy.

As for the older one, the brief contact on his neck had revealed her his vertebrae were fused. Not a good thing, but it looked like an old wound, not much she could do about it. The wrists were chaffed; the kind of injury you got from plastic ties. Knowing Matt's activities, it didn't take a genius to figure Finch had probably been kidnapped or held hostage somewhere. But what about John?

She efficiently cleaned and bandaged the wrists. "Keep these dry and change the dressings every two days."

"Thank you very much for your assistance, Ms. Temple."

"Claire," she corrected gently.

She looked back at John. They had thrown the couch cushions on the ground to take care of his wounds but he needed to lie down somewhere more comfortable. It would be some time before he could move.

However, taking him somewhere else was out of the question. Not with a vertebra cracked by a bullet and fresh stitches. Matt would have to give up his bed for a few days. It wouldn't be the first time he slept on the couch. And for once, he had apparently escaped injury-free.

They carefully moved John to the bedroom and Claire gathered her belonging while leaving some instructions to Matt on how to take care of his charge, along with some serious painkillers. Although if John was anything like Matt, he wouldn't agree to take them. She grumbled under her breath. These macho types just couldn't get it into their thick skulls that pain wasn't good for your body and the healing process. She stressed the point to Matt, hoping that he wouldn't take his own example as a rule.

"I'll leave you to your secret meetings then. I'm sure there's plenty of stuff you need to talk about and can't wait for me to disappear."

Matt smiled, ignoring the stinging tone, and put a hand to her upper arm. "Thank you very much Claire."

"I guess I should just be happy you're not the one injured this time. But you know what? That's not doing it for me..."

She left the apartment shaking her head in disapproval.

Finch didn't utter a word but Matt could feel his unease from across the room.

"Claire doesn't approve of my nightly activities."

"You can hardly blame her, Mr. Murdock. They are quite dangerous indeed."

"Not you too, Finch. There's ample proof of your own dubious life choice in the bedroom."

Finch frowned but couldn't bring himself to disagree. The lawyer was right. All of them lived dangerous lives. He moved to the bedroom. "I'll keep watch on John."

Matt let him go in silence and started putting the cushions back on the couch. Maybe Claire wasn't that far off with her "vigilante club" remark.

* * *

 

John woke up with a gasp and thought deja vu. At least the setting was more comfortable than the previous time. The mattress was firm but soft, and… were those silk sheets? He pushed on his arms to move and couldn't help a loud moan when his back seemed to rip open.

"Perfect. Thank you for saving me the trouble to tell you not to move and why."

Lying as still as possible trying to get his breath back, John cautiously turned his face to the voice. What was Matt doing here?

"You are actually in my place. And yes, you asked that out loud," Matt added with a little chuckle when he felt John's surprise. "You're safe, your injury has been tended to and you need to rest."

John opened his mouth to ask, but gave up. The questions could wait; he didn't have the energy to ask anything for the moment. Just breathing was more exhausting than it should be.

Matt took a glass with a straw from the bedside table and approached it to John's lips.

"Here, drink."

John greedily emptied the glass with a wince. "Too sweet," he complained.

"Glucose. You've lost quite a bit of blood. I didn't think you'd like to eat anything for the moment."

John breathed in sharply.

"There's a pail by the bed if you need it."

John exhaled deeply.

"I think I get the whole listening to my heart beats thing. But how can you know I just turned green? You remember colors, right?" He added as an afterthought.

"I perfectly remember green, yeah…" Matt sighed. "Your breathing changed and there's this… flip, your stomach did as it got ready to send its contents back up."

"Gross," John mumbled.

"Down side to top notch hearing."

"Yeah, I can imagine.

"No, you can't," Matt answered. "Newlyweds on the third floor," he explained with a shiver.

"Ouch…"

"Go back to sleep John. You need to rest and get better or Claire will put you in a corset."

"What?" John asked in a blurred voice. He shook his head trying to clear it.

"That shot was awfully close to your spine. You had us worried."

John tried to answer but his mouth wouldn't cooperate. Drugged. He had been drugged. What… Fear seized him as he realized it, losing the fight to stay awake.

"Only antibiotics and painkillers. Easier in a glass of sugared water," Matt explained having heard the heart spike. "I don't think you'd want me to use a needle. Rest John."

The heart settled down as the medicine took hold and John drifted to sleep.

* * *

 

The next time he woke up, John was groggy; his brain no doubt muffled by whatever drug Matt had slipped in his glass of water. The upside was that the pain was only a dull throb. He was still lying on his stomach in Matt's bed. He had been stripped to his boxer shorts, which allowed him to fully enjoy the feel of the silk sheets. They felt great; he could get use to these. He suddenly realized they were not just a fancy purchase. Matt probably needed them to sleep in a bed that didn't feel like he was sleeping in the hay. John certainly wasn't going to complain about that, this bed was way more comfortable than his own.

How long had he been out? The lawyer would probably want him out of his hair by now.

Deciding lying on his back would be more comfortable and a step in the right direction to the door, he pushed with his hand to move his body. The pain was so intense that his scream didn't even make it out of his throat and only sheer stubbornness allowed him to turn over. He could feel the cold sweat bathe his body. There might have been some tears in the mix too. He opened his mouth wide breathing in greedily. He couldn't afford to be sick. Turning to get to the pail was a no-go and drowning in his own vomit sounded downright frightful.

He felt the bed dip with weight and a hand touch his shoulder softly.

"Try to get your breathing under control," said Matt's voice. "In and out, slowly. Don't rush it. I know you probably feel like you cannot get enough air in your lungs but it's not real." His voice shifted to a comforting pattern. "Focus on my hand on your shoulder. Feel my fingers. How I move them, one by one. Follow the movement, forget about everything else. Just breathe."

He went on and on. After a few minutes, the breathing became more even, the body less tense. Matt knew that John no doubt had his own techniques to cope with pain, but meditation was almost certainly not part of them. From what Matt had gathered in their few encounters, John was the kind to bite the bullet and keep on going, deciding that just plain ignoring the pain was bound to make it disappear in the end. Which worked fine when you were in the field with your adrenalin helping. But for a more lasting effect, the techniques Stick had taught Matt were much more efficient.

He felt John's body finally sag in relief. Never letting go of his hand and the shoulder, he picked up the glass of water on the bedside table.

"Here, drink. You're probably thirsty."

John groaned and Matt chuckled.

"Only water, I promise. Although right now, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't mind the drugs."

His guest drank the water then let out a long sigh. "Thanks."

"I know you have found out the hard way, but can I still tell you not to move?" Matt asked in a serious tone. "You've got to give your body some time to heal. I can only help you so far."

"Was that some of your meditation techniques you told me about?"

"Part of it. You can't start learning how to do it in this kind of situation."

"Yeah, I guess Meditating 101 doesn't start with controlling pain from a bullet wound," John quipped with a smile in his voice.

His heart had slowed down back to normal; the relief was probably making him a bit giddy.

"Not the braille version anyway," Matt answered smiling back.

"Finch?" John asked, worried again about his welfare.

"He's fine and I finally convinced him a few hours ago to go home and rest."

"I don't even know if he has a real home," John whispered.

"How long have you known each other?" Matt asked cautiously, realizing he was maybe stepping on forbidden territory.

"Five years. In the beginning I used to spy on him, but then I understood and just let it go."

"Shady past?"

"You mean his or mine?"

"I'm guessing both."

"You've got your own secrets Matt. I'm pretty sure not a lot of people know about your senses, and I'm not even talking about your Daredevil act."

"How many people know who you really are?"

Both men remained silent a moment.

"I think there is a saying about that," Matt mumbled.

"Is Finch okay?" John asked.

"Yes. Only his wrists were chaffed. He was unhurt. What do you remember?"

* * *

 

_Earlier in the day_

John entered the subway station to find it apparently empty. Bear rushed to greet him and he scratched his ears fondly.

"Where did everybody go?" he asked the dog.

Hearing some metal noise and a curse, he went further down. Boots were sticking out from under some sort of metallic closet. He softly kicked a foot.

"Where's Finch?"

"I sent him run an errand."

"Finch is hardly a bell-boy. Can't you get your own stuff?"

"You'd rather have him lying on these cold tiles?" Root shot back as a loud bang sounded from whatever she was tinkering with.

She had a point. Finch was unbeatable at writing code, but Root's help to manage the hardware part of computers had been helpful. John couldn't help but think how Finch must feel in those moments, thinking back to before the accident that had crippled him, when he had created his baby from scratch.

"You found some new supplier?" John asked. He had to admit she had a knack to find the pieces Finch needed, even the least common ones.

"Yeah. New lab. They're developing this high-tech." Root rolled out from under the closet. "Top notch components that will just be perfect for Her."

John frowned. "Why do I get the feeling he won't be needing any cash to pay for them?"

"Because you're smart?" Root answered with a smile.

"Root, where did you send Finch?"

"Relax, will you? He told me he could do it. That you had taught him how to unlock most doors. He seemed quite eager to try his skills."

"You sent him B&E? Are you crazy? Why didn't you wait for me?" John asked in an angry voice.

Root stepped back. She wasn't afraid of John, but he was furious.

"Because we really would like to move on with this. The Machine needs to be brought back on-line sooner rather than later. It's been weeks already!"

Root moved back to a computer.

"When did he leave?"

"Not that long ago. Right after lunch."

John closed his eyes to count to ten. It was that or he was going to rip the brunette's head off.

"Root," he said slowly. "It's almost 8:00 pm."

Turning back sharply, Root looked at John's face wondering if he was kidding. "I… I didn't realize it was that late," she said her face going white. "I'll…"

"I'll go find him. Where's that lab?"

"10th and 51, StarTech Labs."

"That's right down Hell's Kitchen." John shook his head in dismay. "Bodies have been turning up in dumpsters in that area. Police has been patrolling the streets looking for some clues."

"You don't think…"

"Call me if Finch comes back and it turns out I'm just overly cautious."

Root only nodded, feeling guilty. She would never put Finch in danger willingly. Well not since their very first encounter, but that was a long time ago.

John had promptly arrived at the laboratories. Night had fallen and the street was mostly empty. Opening the back door was surprisingly easy. He swiftly crossed the large empty loading bay moving to the door leading to the offices. Only a few lights were on, but they were casting enough illumination to move easily.

Keeping in the shadows, he moved in, keeping an eye on his phone. The work benches and laboratories were empty. He kept to a dark corner when footsteps approached revealing security men checking the corridors; strolling and chatting more than looking out for anything. They shouldn't have missed him if they had been doing their job properly. John had a death grip on his weapon and had almost fired before he realized the two men were totally oblivious.

Going further down, he stopped in front of a door. The blinking dot on his phone screen was steady. Entering the room, he put his back against the wall checking the surroundings, looking for surveillance cameras or a stationed guard.

"Finch," he called softly not wanting to startle the man too much.

His employer was sitting in a chair, hands and legs tied up with plastic binds.

"Mr. Reese?" the genius asked, eyes scrunched. He had lost his glasses and was trying to identify the shape.

"Yes, Harold."

Harold let out a long sigh. "This is a most unexpected appearance."

John froze in surprise. "You doubted that I would look for you?"

"Oh no. I was totally convinced you would. The delay was the unknown data. The disappearance of my glasses had me worried since it meant that the bug was lost."

"You knew I had bugged you again?"

"You are sometimes quite predictable Mr. Reese. Not that I am complaining. Where did you put it this time?" Finch asked with a minute smile.

"Your watch."

"I see the example set by Mr. Pierce wasn't lost on you."

"Actually Lou Mitchell helped me fix your watch."

"Although it is quite an invasion of my privacy, I can hardly complain at this moment."

In the meantime, John had cut the ties and was helping Finch rise from his chair.

"Are you hurt?" John asked in a concerned voice.

"Only my pride," Harold answered his lips tight.

"Root is so going to regret sending you here."

"It is entirely my fault. I insisted coming since I couldn't access the panels we were working on."

"Still, a few hours wouldn't have made much of a difference."

"Shall we leave, Mr. Reese?" Finch asked putting an end to the conversation.

"Let's."

Retracing his steps, John held Finch's elbow towards the loading bay, intending the leave the way he had gotten in. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a moving shadow by a window, but it had disappeared when he turned his head to look. A few seconds later the lights were turned off and only the greenish illumination of security exits casted a pale halo.

A door on the side opened and the two security guards barged in, stopping suddenly when they were met by darkness.

Holding Finch's arm more solidly, John took them along the wall toward the back door. "Whoever you are, thanks for the lights," he whispered, mostly to himself.

Using some of the crates and equipment to hide their presence, they were close to the door when a new set of lights came on, blasting the place with an unescapable glow.

"Damn!" John cursed. Getting behind Finch, he pushed him hard on the back. "Run Harold. Get to the door."

The shadow reappeared on top of a crate and threw a stick at one of the guards who crashed to the floor. The other security man shot in the general direction of the threat.

"Now! Get to the door!" John shouted, pushing Finch harder.

His voice made the second security guard turn around and shoot his way. The shot got him square in the back. The pain of the bullet entry seemed as nothing when it touched his spine; sending tendrils of electricity all over his body. He managed one step before the explosion of pain in his back turned everything to black.

* * *

 

"It gets quite blurry from there." John frowned trying to boost his memory.

"The bullet they shot you with came straight from their own prototypes. Finch took it to study it," Matt clarified.

"Root is going to fight him over it," John mused.

"Root?"

"An… associate."

Matt chuckled. "I'm starting to think Claire wasn't that far off."

"Claire," John repeated slowly, then remembered. "Your nurse, right?"

"Yes. She thinks you're part of my 'vigilante club' as she put it. She's the one who got the bullet out and patched you up. And who got you those amazing painkillers."

Matt rose and came back with some pills and water.

"You're supposed to take these." He raised a hand to stop John. "Don't tell me you're not hurting; you know I can tell when you lie."

John mumbled something about living lie detectors, but swallowed the pills without protest. Matt had helped him through the blinding agony, but the dull throb had long ago turned to persistent pain.

"What were you doing at StarTech Labs anyway?" John enquired.

"Bodies have been turning up in the dumpsters for the past weeks. It took me a while to figure out what was going on."

"I heard about the bodies too. That's the reason I was there. I was worried about Finch going in alone. I fully intend to kick Root's ass for letting him go there alone."

"What was he doing there in the first place?" Matt asked.

John opened his mouth then closed it, wondering what information he could give. Matt smiled in amusement.

"Do you think we will reach a time when we will be able to talk without hitting a blank wall every other sentence?"

Chuckling slightly, John shook his head. "Not likely."

"Yeah, I don't think so either."

"Anyway, thank you for your help back there. You really saved the day."

"Not your back though."

"I've been shot before, no big deal."

"Except that the bullet is really weird. It's like it produces energy. Claire had to isolate her plyers to pull it out." Matt frowned thinking. "I touched it. It was like being hit by a taser."

"Explains the pain," John whispered. The explosion he had felt in his back when he had been hit was nothing like he had experienced before.

"The cracked vertebra is one of the reasons you're feeling it now. And your nerve endings were probably fried by the energy surge."

"How did you get me out of there anyway?"

"Those two guards were not much of a challenge really. Oh, and you're welcome for the lights," he added with a smile.

"I sort of thought it could be you, but I didn't manage to see you. Boy, you move fast."

"Once I tied them up with their own ties, Finch helped me carry you. It's a good thing he had left his car around the corner. You're not a lightweight."

"I can't remember anything after I was shot."

"You were out cold. Finch hasn't been able to learn much from the bullet we got out of your back. The impact destroyed most of the components. But apparently we're dealing with some sort of micro-miniaturized taser embedded in a shell."

"If the shot doesn't kill you, the energy burst will bring you down. Effective…"

"Hitting your spine was pure luck for the shooter, but much worse for you since it got right into your nervous system."

"So how long before I'm on my feet according to your nurse?"

"Six weeks. Which I'm guessing will be two for you?"

"I certainly won't be staying six weeks at your place, Matt!"

"John, I think you've seen by yourself what happens when you move, so I'm not even going to bother talking to you."

"What did else you find out about the lab?"

"They are developing cutting edge technology, but they don't seem to care very much for proper procedures. They've have been abducting homeless people and testing their products on them, and throwing them in dumpster after they died."

"So you just rushed in? What were you hoping to do? Convince them to stop?"

"Something like that."

"You don't stop that kind of people with words, Matt. Or even threats."

"I don't kill people."

"I know. I'm not asking you to."

Root would certainly have less qualms about it. Maybe she would come up with an idea. Except she'd want to raid the place first. That was one thing they had in common. They loved weapons.

"Can you call Finch? Ask him…" his voice trailed.

He couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. His body had turned to jelly. What sort of painkiller had Claire left?

"Matt…" he groaned, guessing the pills he had swallowed were not your OTC Advil.

"Yeah, I know. But you need the rest."

* * *

 

Matt brushed the keypad on the vending machine. Years of use had worn off the coating, but luckily skin sweat had left fresher traces. After a few trials the machine door opened. Brushing the wall with his fingertips he went down the stairs. He had only been here once, with John, but he remembered the layout of the place.

He heard a "woof" and paws brushing the tile as Bear rushed to the stairs, probably surprised at the unexpected visit. He sat down at his feet with a gentle whine. Matt brushed his head gently.

"Hey Bear. You remember me?"

Running feet were right behind the dog and he recognized the familiar scent of a weapon. He raised his hands in a peaceful gesture, holding his unfolded cane visibly.

"Who are you?" a female voice asked.

The uneven pace of Finch approached the bottom of the stairs.

"Mr. Murdock, quite an unexpected surprise," Finch said. "Ms. Groves, please, would you lower your weapon?"

The woman didn't move for a few seconds, then released her stance. "Obviously Bear knows you. You're lucky I trust that dog more than most humans."

"They are less likely to be bribed," Matt admitted.

"Is John all right?" Finch suddenly asked in a worried voice.

"As well as he can be. Not an easy charge though."

"Tell me about it…," Finch said with a disapproving wince. He knew how bad a patient John could be. Short of tying him to a bed, forcing him to rest required more patience than human beings were equipped with.

Root watched the exchange. "Feel free to introduce me anytime…"

Finch seemed to remember his manners.

"Ms. Groves meet Mr. Murdock. He assisted us escaping StarTech Labs."

"Oh, you're Root," Matt exclaimed.

"Yes…" Root answered cautiously. How did he know that?

"John is quite impatient to see you," Matt said with an amused smile.

"Really?"

"Something to do with kicking a certain part of your anatomy…"

"Harold wanted to go! I never forced him!" Root spat back knowing exactly why John was mad at her.

"As I already told Mr. Murdock, Ms. Groves, John can be quite protective as you know."

"Hmpf," Root grunted.

"A reason to your visit, Mr. Murdock? Not that you are not welcome here anytime," Finch added.

"Okay, time out!" Root exclaimed. "Who are you exactly and how come you've apparently already been down here?"

Finch turned to Matt realizing they had never talked about him to Root, wondering what the lawyer was willing to share.

Matt looked in Root's direction. "I happened to be one of your… how do you put it again? 'numbers'," he said with a smile.

Root squint her eyes. "Yet, apparently you saved the day yesterday from what I gather. Care to enlighten me?"

They sat down as Finch explained their first meeting. Root's fast brain didn't take long to catch up.

"Wait, you're Daredevil?" Matt shrugged slightly. "I thought it was an urban legend."

"Much like the Man in the Suit," Matt answered remembering the same conversation in this very same place.

"But, you're…" Root stammered, thinking about the articles she had read and comparing them to the young man in their hideout.

"Blind, yes. Doesn't mean I'm an invalid."

"Obviously," she whispered.

"That laboratory needs to be put out of commission," Finch stated.

"Oh, I'm sure we can have some fun with that," Root shooting a bright smile to Matt.

* * *

 

After agreeing on their plan to bring the Lab down, Matt had realized the time and had rushed back to his apartment. He was a really lousy caretaker. John was alone and couldn't move. He was probably hungry by now. He had left him a bottle of water on the night stand, but no food.

He put his cane against the wall and listened to his guest. The heart rate showed he was not asleep and the light pick-up meant John had heard the door open.

"Honey, I'm home!" he singsonged in a loud voice with a smile. Then grinned widely when he heard the light chuckle.

He hung his coat and went to the bedroom.

"How are you doing, John?" he asked.

"Bored?"

"Yeah, I can understand that. Sorry I don't have a TV; I don't really need it…"

"No problem. I'm not a big fan of day time TV."

"You want a beer?"

John looked at him dumbfounded. Matt interpreted the silence with his usual keen sense.

"What? I'm no doctor. I'm just offering since you obviously can't get it yourself. You then make your own decisions!"

"I definitely like your bedside manners. And yes, a beer would be nice."

"I brought some food. Chinese ok?"

"Yes."

"Lying on your side should be easier to eat."

"Very Roman emperor…" John mused.

Propping pillows behind John's back, Matt helped him move to a more comfortable position. His guest didn't utter a word but Matt didn't need super senses to hear his heart sky rocket and feel his skin go cold as the pain gripped him.

John opened his eyes sluggishly.

"Easy. You just blacked out for a second."

"That beer definitely sounds good."

"Not so sure Claire would approve actually, but I'll get it."

They started eating their food in comfortable silence. Idle chat wasn't part of their conversation skills and both had more secrets to keep than topics to share.

"I met you friend Root," Matt mentioned between two bites.

"And you're still alive?"

"Saved by your dog actually. She seemed to think that since Bear didn't eat me, I was allowed in your secret lair."

"You told her about your 'side' activity?"

"She figured it out quite fast on her own."

"She is smart. Almost as bright as Finch. Only more… 'weird'?" John explained, thinking about the less nice nicknames Fusco used when talking about Root.

Matt smiled. He had had ample time to get a feeling of Root's thought process as they came up with a plan. They had also agreed they wouldn't tell John about it until it was done. Finch was convinced that the hole in John's back wouldn't be enough to make him lay low.

"How did you meet?"

John frowned. "She kidnapped Finch."

"What?"

Giving himself a few seconds to choose the words, John gave him a much redacted version of their first meeting with Root and how their relationship had changed overtime.

"You should consider going back to work with the military," Matt commented softly. "I could just see the black stripes on your tale while you were talking."

John didn't bother denying it. Matt was highly perceptive and bright. They had already had this conversation before. Both knew there was a big part of their lives they were not ready to share. In the meantime they could just enjoy the time they spent together.

"So Finch convinced you not to tell me what you're planning with Root?" he asked knowing how to deflect an embarrassing question. The chuckle he got back was a full answer by itself.

* * *

 

John heard the door open and tensed. Matt had gone out through the window in his Daredevil suit. He would probably come back the same way, not the front door. He didn't have his gun. Matt had made sure Finch took it with him when he had left. He felt helpless.

"Hey Matt, it's me," a voice shouted from the entrance. "Okay. I know you know it's me. Probably knew it was me since I turned the street corner. Still, I thought I should let you know since I used my spare key. Why didn't you answer the door?"

Rambling on Foggy crossed the room and stopped at the bedroom door.

"You're not Matt," he said rather unnecessarily, immediately feeling stupid. Well duh!

"Obviously," John answered, amused now that he had recognized the visitor.

Foggy Nelson, Matt's lawyer associate and friend. He had only seen him once before; the very first time they had met, when they had gone to the lawyer's office trying to find out why the Machine had given them his number.

"I know you," Foggy stated. "And just so we're clear, I also knew back then that your visit to the office wasn't case related. Still doesn't explain why you are lying in Matt's bed," Foggy went on, then stopped. "Does that sound dirty?"

"Matt is out, doing… Matt stuff." John tried to move. Having this conversation lying down made him very uncomfortable. He winced when his body complained loudly.

Foggy rushed in.

"Stop, don't move. Listen, I'm sure there is a very good reason for you to being there. And I probably don't want to know about it. But you're apparently not doing so good… which I have no doubts is related to the reason Matt is out there."

Way to dodge the elephant in the room thought John. Obviously both knew about Matt's activities but none was willing to talk about it in the open. He seriously hoped Foggy and Matt got a chance to talk more freely when alone, otherwise their relationship was bound to be quite strained.

The silence lingered, both men feeling slightly uncomfortable.

"I don't know when Matt is coming back..."

"I just stopped by to leave him a file to work on for a client…"

Both men had started talking at the same time and stopped suddenly.

"Awkward," Foggy trailed.

He pointed to John. "Since I'm here, can I get you anything? Water? Some food?"

"I'm good, thanks."

"Not so good, I'd say…"

"I've been worse."

"Right..." Foggy said drawing out the word. "You know Matt says that too, like it's supposed to make me feel better. Well, it doesn't! It actually makes things worse. I have a pretty vivid imagination."

John couldn't help a smile. Foggy seemed to take Matt's health to heart, reacting much as Finch did when he himself got hurt. Of course, after a life of black ops and shady spying, your frame of normalcy wasn't exactly the same as most people.

"Of course, you think that's funny." Foggy threw his arms to the sky. "I just don't get you guys." He shook his head in despair. "Take care and tell Matt I've come by. Although he'll probably be able to know by my trail scent or something... I'll see myself out. Good bye."

Now that he was alone, John allowed himself a full grin. That had been a welcome interruption. Being forced to lie down was not something he coped with easily. But the last time he had gotten up just to go to the bathroom, he had almost ended up actually crying from the pain. He really didn't look forward to the next time he'd need to rise.

* * *

 

"So you actually blew up StarTech Labs?" John asked when Matt entered the room.

Murdock was in his Daredevil suit. He had entered his own apartment through the window. He removed his mask with a chuckle.

"And here I thought I was the one with the super senses."

"You reek of explosives and smoke."

"That bad?"

"It's a smell I've become quite familiar with."

Matt removed the suit and brought it his nose. "I better shower. You're right, I stink."

He turned to his drawers to get clean clothes.

John looked at Murdock only dressed in boxer shorts underneath his costume. He frowned. He had already seen him shirtless, but the sheer amount of scars was still frightful. Raising his head, he saw Matt was watching him, or at least in his direction.

"Right now, I'm doing much better than you do," Matt said with that uncanny power of being able to guess what John was thinking.

"I bet there are quite interesting stories behind each of those marks on your body."

"Not sure 'interesting' is the right word…"

"How long have you been doing this?"

Matt sighed. "Do you think we could have this conversation when I'm not dressed in only my underwear?"

John chuckled slightly. "Yes, of course," he answered not believing for one second they would address the topic again.

He tested his body while Matt was in the shower. Sitting up proved painful but he managed it without feeling like he was going to pass out. The last time he had risen to go to the bathroom, the trip had seemed to last forever but he had only broken a light sweat. He had already decided he would spend the night in Matt's apartment then leave as soon as possible. Most probably when the young lawyer left, to avoid any confrontation. He wasn't up to any fight. But he wanted to go to his place, to set his own boundaries while his body healed. He would be out of the field for a few weeks, but he knew where he could get a wheelchair. Not ideal, but it would give him some mobility.

Matt came back from the shower dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. He sat at the foot of the bed.

  
"I'm not sure Claire would approve of you sitting up."

"Do you have to think to do that, or is it just natural?" John asked shaking his head in amazement.

"I'm sure you can figure out why I know."

"My breath coming from higher up, the sound of my heart not ricocheting on the mattress..." John guessed. Presented like that, it made sense, seemed quite logical.

"See… No magic. Just using my ears."

"I can't hear your heart!" The catch was exactly there. You weren't supposed to hear that well. Did Matt hear dog whistles?

Matt chuckled. "It was tough at the beginning. Almost drove me crazy."

He seemed lost in his thoughts for a few seconds, then started talking.

"When I first woke up at the hospital after the accident, everything was different. But my father was there, and he pushed the noise away. As long as he was alive I didn't even realize that my hearing was way off the charts. I couldn't see anymore, so I took for granted that I was hearing better. It turned ugly at the orphanage. I couldn't control anything. The grief probably didn't help… The nuns weren't really helpful either…"

Despite the surprise, John forced his breath to remain even. He had never expected Matt to actually confide in him.

"Then, one of them heard about Stick and called him. Turns out, he was the one who had heard about me and made sure he was called. He was… brutal, but he taught me lot. To fight, to listen, to meditate… He left when I became too attached…"

Matt frowned. "He showed up a few months ago. Turns out we don't have that much in common after all." His flat had been trashed to pieces during their memorable fight, Stick leaving the paper bracelet…

"And then Foggy found me half dead in my black mask." He unconsciously rubbed his stomach. "That hurt much more than the wounds…"

"You had never told him about your senses before?" John asked in a low voice not wanting to break the spell.

"No, and he found out the hard way. He wasn't a big fan of the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, kept fighting about it with Karen. As with most people, he thought I was responsible for the bombings and the deaths in the Kitchen. And then it turns out the man behind the mask was his best friend… I really thought I was going to lose him."

"Some news take a little time to digest."

"I'm lucky he's such a great guy. College was wonderful with him; the best roommate you could ask for. He never made me feel like an invalid."

"He never had any suspicions?"

"I almost told him once or twice, then the moment was over and I never found the courage to tell him." Matt raised his head toward John. "I'm not this talkative usually," he said almost surprised at himself.

"Kindred spirits…" John whispered.

"So you blew up the Lab?" he asked after a few minutes, wanting to know more about it.

"Your friend Root was ready to shoot everyone first. She's sure they'll probably start again."

"But you managed to convince her."

"Yes. She did mumble something about cape-less superheroes and suits... I've heard about you John, and your modus operandi. You don't kill people either. You do shoot a lot of knee caps though…"

"I find it quite effective while non deadly."

"Probably had your share of assassinations," Matt whispered mostly for himself. He smiled in appeasement when he heard John's heart spike. "Not going there, don't worry."

"There are some parts of my past I'm really not proud of, or willing to talk about for that matter."

"I get that."

"' _Daredevil and the Man in the Suit put an end to a crooked high tech laboratory_ '. Could be the cover of a new comic."

"I really don't want to make headlines."

"But it's all rumors. Urban Legends are only a myth… Helps the good citizens to sleep more peacefully."

John chuckled slightly. "We should go out and have a drink when I'm back on my feet, Matt."

"And kick some ass?"

"No. Just enjoy some downtime together."

"Deal."

Matt got up from the bed. "It's getting late… or early, I don't know. Try and get some sleep. See you for breakfast."

* * *

 

_Following evening_

Matt opened the door to his apartment, leaned his cane against the wall. Walking in, his foot bumped on something. He immediately tensed, checking his surroundings. Only silence.

John's heartbeat was missing.

He kneeled down. A mug had been left on the ground, with a note inside. Best way to make sure that Matt would find it easily.

Taking the paper in his hands, his fingers automatically slipped over the gouges. The holes had been punched manually, hesitantly, distances not respected, but there was something written. Except the letters didn't make any sense. Turning the paper around, he ran his fingers on the punches. He smiled in amusement. Rookie mistake. John had forgotten that you needed to punch the holes backwards. It was a nice gesture though.

In the equivalent of Matt's own letters when he tried to write with a pen, John had written in braille "THANK YOU. GONNA MISS THE SILK SHEETS".

"You're welcome John. Take care," he whispered, wondering when they would meet again.

* * *

 

The end


End file.
